


Of Coffee and Clues

by Medie



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary smiles, ducking her head. Her curls fall forward with the movement and Joan tightens her grip on the mug in her hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Coffee and Clues

**Author's Note:**

> It is my fondest wish to see Joan/Mary as a pairing. In the meantime, this will do. Written for a previous Fandom Stocking challenge though I believe it might have gone unposted. Story would've been set early S1.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

There's a small coffee pot in the corner, the scent is heavenly, and Joan smiles. 

"Private stash?"

"Oh absolutely," Mary agrees, pouring a cup and handing it to her. She pours a cup of her own and sits at her desk. "It's an absolute must. This office runs on coffee and you don't want to see what the communal pot looks like." 

"Rank hath its privileges?" Joan brings the cup to her lips, sipping. It's good. Really good. She closes her eyes lets herself enjoy it. 

"Fear more like," Mary picks up a pen, tapping a notepad with it. There's a smudge of ink at her jawline and a gold chain with a tiny cross barely visible beneath her tailored blouse. The blouse is carefully maintained, stitching redone in places, and the cross looks like an heirloom. Aside from a plain watch, she isn't wearing any other jewellery. "The boss depends on me to be just a little scary."

Joan raises an eyebrow. "Forgive me if I say that might be a little hard to believe." 

Mary smiles, ducking her head. Her curls fall forward with the movement and Joan tightens her grip on the mug in her hand. Not the time. Not the time. "Inside a courtroom, I manage it, but for the most part, I prefer to leave it there." 

Joan smiles. "Is that my cue?" 

"Yes, actually," Mary looks up. "You've been working with Sherlock Holmes and you've been involved in a number of his investigations with the police. He's testified for us a few times, but as you can imagine, it can be quite— _interesting_."

Joan pictures Sherlock on the stand and laughs. "I think I'd like to see that."

"Well, I'm sure you'll get the chance before long," Mary says, grimacing. "Just pretend not to notice me going quietly out of mind. I'm always terrified he'll completely alienate the jury."

"He hasn't yet?"

"Not so far, but there's always the next murder, or the one after that." Mary picks up her pen, drumming it against the desk again. "I had hoped that you might be able to help with this." 

Joan nods and puts the coffee down. "I suspected that might be what this is about. Captain Gregson's spoken with you?" 

Mary nods. "He says he can't elaborate, but that you can't take the stand and there's good reason for it." 

"He's right," Joan agrees. "I can't. I also don't think it would help if I did." 

"And you can't tell me either," Mary muses, looking Joan in the eye.

The weight of her gaze is almost a physical sensation, like fingertips against her skin. It's difficult to focus on the conversation with Mary watching her like that and she shifts, restless with it. 

"I don't want to know, do I?" she finally asks, and Joan shakes her head with a smile. 

"It's better that you don't." 

Mary's eyes narrow and Joan tries to imagine being cross-examined by this woman. It's easier than she would have thought, summoning the image of Mary staring her down from the witness stand, arms folded beneath her breasts. The chain of her cross would catch the cheap lighting, glinting with every move.

Her mouth goes just a little dry, thinking about it. 

"Are you okay, Dr. Watson? I believe I've lost you."

Joan blinks away the image and finds Mary watching her, a concerned look having replaced the scrutiny in her eyes. It's difficult to fight a blush at the best of times, but all the more so with the certain knowledge that Mary will see it. 

"No," she says, ignoring the warmth blooming in her cheeks until she sees the small, pleased smile Mary doesn't really try to hide. "You haven't." It's a little out of left field, maybe for the both of them, but going on the promise in Mary's smile, Joan can't resist asking, "I was just thinking about lunch. Do you like Italian?"


End file.
